


Like Pure Starlight

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:06:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4468199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin hid the necklace. Thranduil goes to great lenghts to get them back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Pure Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is just a short, poorly written alternate ending to TBOTFA as I refused to accept Thorin's death.

Bilbo turned around to, one last time, glanze at Erebor. The dwarves should have been celebrating. They had reclaimed their homeland, but the price they had paid for the mountain, was way too great, and the magnificent structure was filled by sorrow.  
The line of Durin had ended in blood.  
The hobbit sighed. He had lost great friends. One of which, might just have become something more. So with an aching heart, he turned his back at the Lonely Mountain, never to return, closing his hand around the acorn, that meant so much.   
A great battle had been fought. A great victory won. And a great price paid.  
Bilbo remembered Thorin’s last words. His dying wish.   
Go home to your armchair and your books. Plant your trees and watch them grow. If more people valued food above gold, the world would be a merrier place.  
A tear broke free and soundlessly started it’s journey, soon to be joined by others.  
It took much, to make a Hobbit cry. Maybe not as much, as to make the dwarves or the elves cry, but certainly more than to make a man cry. Or maybe not. Hobbits rarely cried. They lived a life of happiness and food.  
Most of them, that was. Bilbo Baggins, wasn’t one of them.

But what the Hobbit didn’t know, was what was going on in Erebor, that very moment. Bilbo had not stuck around to watch the funeral. Not even had he stayed long enough to get his fourteenth share. He simply couldn’t bear it.  
If he had stuck around, he would have been there to witness something extraordinary in deed.  
Thranduil, the great elvin king, was in rage. Of course, he did not let it show, but in rage he was. He had lost many elvin lives in this battle. He wanted his stars returned to him, but no stars were anywhere to be found. Of course the wretched dwarf had hid them. Thranduil had known the instant the words escaped his lips, that he had revealed just how much he wanted them back. And Thorin Oakenshield was not stupid. Of course, he had hid the stars. He had known, he elves would come. Maybe he forgot it, when the dragon sickness took him, but he had known. And Thranduil cursed himself, for underestimating the dwarf.  
Thranduil had let his highlighted senses scan the gold-filled room, but he could not see, nor smell the stars. Not even the faint buzzing of their energy. The energy that made them glow in the dark and shine in the sun.  
Nothing.  
Thranduil could not get his stars, unless he did something he dreaded to do. But those stars belonged to the elves. The dwarves had stolen them. Now, Thranduil had to get them back, in order to withhold the reputation of the elves.   
Thranduil sighed. The reputation of the elves was more important than the reputation of himself. He could not be forever, but the elves would endure.  
The great elvin king walked out of the castle of Erebor. He called upon a bird to carry his message.  
He knew his sister was not far away. And for this, he needed her.

When Galadriel arrived, she found a battlefield populated by dead. The corpses of elves, dwarves, orcs and men covered the battlefield like grass a meadow.  
Galadriel, the greatest, most powerful sorceress in history, saw this, and she shivered.  
Galadriel found her brother. She had just collected her strengths when she got the message.   
“Thranduil. Are you certain of this?” she asked him. He sighed, but nodded.  
“He is the only one who knows.” Galadriel nodded and approached the body of Thorin Oakenshield.   
“Then we must hurry, before then sun sets.” She placed a hand on the deceased dwarven king’s chest, right above his heart, and started chanting. She took the knife, handed to her by her brother. Then she moved her hand from Thorin’s chest and grabbed her brother’s hand. Still chanting, she cut the palm of the elvin king, holding the knife in the wound, until she was certain enough blood covered the blade.  
Apart from the hiss coming from Thranduil, was her chanting the only sounds to hear in the room. That is, if you do not coundt the noicy breathing of the rest of the dwarves, that had been in Thorin’s company.  
Galadriel once again placed her hand over Thorin’s heart, before holding the knife against his lips, making the blood enter his body. She then removed the knife, looking at Thranduil, never stopping her chanting.  
Thranduil inhaled and exhaled, before starting to speak words much older, than both Sindarin and Quenya. Even though no one knew the language, alle in the room understood the words:   
By my blood, I offer you, deceased, dead, departed,  
another eighty years to live,  
another chance to leave them broken hearted.  
Galadriel stopped her chanting. There were no saying if it worked yet. She had never done it before.  
She had just taken eighty years of her brother’s life, and given them to a fallen dwarf. Of course, this would not hurt Thranduil, since his amount of years was infinite, but it still felt wrong.  
Suddently Thranduil’s eyes shot way from Galadriel’s and to the dwarf’s.  
Galadriel turned around. There, where he before had laid dead, sat Thorin Oakenshield, so very much alive.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it ;-) Let me know if you did xD


End file.
